


To be a Savior

by Hannelore_Grace



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Copious amounts of lube, Other, Oviposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannelore_Grace/pseuds/Hannelore_Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirates have kidnapped an egg. Spock and McCoy are duty-bound to see it returned to its parents, through any means necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To be a Savior

If Spock had ever been in a less dignified position, he could not recall it.

“There you are. Just relax,” McCoy said from behind him, and for one irrational moment Spock wished to snap at him. To demand that they trade places and _then_ see how relaxed McCoy could be.

“I assure you, I am doing my best. However, these conditions are far from ideal for meditation,” Spock instead replied.

Nevertheless, he shifted his knees farther apart and took a deep breath, focusing entirely on the cluster of muscles that comprised his anus. With some difficulty, he managed to ease some of the tension. He felt his hole relaxing, cool air brushing against places that should never be so exposed.

“That’s it. Okay, I’m going to put some more lube on you. It’ll be cold.”

“Acknowledged.”

Wet slickness dribbled into his crack, and it was all Spock could do not to wince away from it. The uncomfortable sensations only increased as McCoy used his thumb and forefinger to push Spock’s cheeks apart and squirt more lubricant directly against his entrance. This time Spock could not withhold the startled jerk of his hips.

“I know, I know, but I want to lower the possibility of anal tearing as much as possible,” McCoy said.

“I understand. Continue.”

This time Spock did not dare move a single muscle as McCoy squirted lubricant inside him. His mind automatically catalogued the sensations, determining them to be distinctly odd but not harmful. Indeed, the brief discomfort of the lubricant would certainly make the next phase of this operation significantly more tolerable. He took another deep, measured breath and forced his body to accept the slippery wetness squishing around inside his anal cavity.

“Alright, we’re done with that for now,” McCoy said, his words punctuated with the snap of the bottle of lubricant closing. “This next part’s going to be even less fun, though. I want to stretch you out a bit, give your body some more time to adapt. It’ll be a bit like a prostate exam.”

“You need not patronize me, Doctor. I am familiar with the concept of anal fingering,” Spock replied, perhaps more sharply than was necessary.

“I’m just giving you fair warning. I don’t want any surprises here. We’ve had enough of those already.”

Spock found he could not disagree with the doctor’s assessment. Certainly, he had not begun his shift that day thinking that he would need to pose as a pirate to retrieve a stolen egg, then have the egg inserted into his rectum so it could be smuggled off the pirates’ base and returned to its rightful parents. Some days service to Starfleet truly did challenge his perceptions of “normal”.

Spock was abruptly pulled out of his recollections by the feeling of a finger pressing against his anus. As relaxed and wet as the muscle was, it took no effort at all for McCoy to push the digit inside. McCoy thrust it a few times, then withdrew it completely and this time nudged two fingers into him. 

Spock forcefully regulated his breathing, not allowing it to catch or hitch as McCoy worked him open with two, then three, then four fingers. The stretch of Spock’s body around McCoy’s knuckles was unfamiliar but not painful; the doctor seemed to be quite skilled at this type of procedure. For a moment Spock considered asking where he had learned such skill, but at the last second he decided he did not actually wish to know the answer to his query.

Finally, McCoy withdrew his fingers entirely, leaving Spock’s body to attempt to clench around the nothingness the extrusion left behind. He felt far too open, as if McCoy could see deep into his fragile pink insides. With some embarrassment, Spock realized that McCoy very likely _could_.

“Okay, that’s the easy part over. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

“There is no other alternative.”

“Spock, you have every right to say no to this. Secer and Taubvol wouldn’t hold it against you,” McCoy said. The gentleness in his tone only served to make Spock feel an irrational swell of irritation.

“And condemn the child to death? Or worse, slavery? No, Doctor. There is no other option. You are merely stalling and increasing the likelihood of this mission’s failure.”

With his backside turned and presented toward McCoy, Spock could not see so much as feel the doctor’s annoyance. It swept over him in a wave, coursing from the bare hand McCoy had pressed against his thigh, holding him steady.

“Fine, you prickly bastard. Let’s get it over with, then,” McCoy snapped.

Spock heard the bottle of lubricant being opened once more, only this time it was not squirted onto his skin. He surmised that McCoy must be applying it directly onto the egg. Spock only hoped that he was quite liberal in his application. At its base it was nearly as wide as two fists; even drenched in lubricant it would be a tight fit.

“I’m going to put it in bottom first,” McCoy warned. “It’ll make it easier to get it back out once we’re back on the Enterprise.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

Spock took several deep breaths and once again focused on keeping his anal muscles relaxed. He did not flinch at all when McCoy pushed his fingers in him once more to double check that Spock was still relaxed, nor did he squirm when he felt the smooth, wet shell of the egg pressing between his cheeks.

“I’m going to need your help,” McCoy said. “I need you to hold yourself open and bear down like you’re having a bowel movement.”

Spock nodded then, realizing that McCoy could not see him, said, “Acknowleged.”

He reached back to hold his cheeks apart, then pressed down while McCoy simultaneously pushed the egg against his hole. Spock felt himself begin stretching around the impossibly wide girth of the egg and had to bite back a whine as his anus stung in protest.

“Good. You’re doing great. Can you push backwards for me a bit now? Yeah, that’s it. Keep bearing down.”

Centimeter by centimeter, the egg breached his outer muscles. Spock’s thighs were trembling with the desperate urge to crawl away from the intrusion, but he forced himself to continue pressing backward while McCoy pushed the egg forward. The pain in his hole was now a screaming agony, but he nevertheless quashed down the instinct to fight away from it.

_It will not fit,_ Spock suddenly thought with a slight edge of hysteria. _It will not fit. It will rip me open._

It was only McCoy’s voice cutting through the fog of panic that prevented Spock from jerking away and crawling to tend to his wounds in private. Strong fingers gripped into Spock’s thigh and held him steady as he spoke.

“We’re almost there, Spock. Just a bit more. It’s easy after this; we’re getting to the narrow end now. The worst of it is over. You just gotta relax and take a bit more. Yeah, there you go. You’re doing just fine.”

Spock could feel beads of sweat rolling down his temples and knew that he was now very obviously shaking all over. Still, the doctor kept up his stream of babble and Spock focused on it instead of all the discomforts of his body. With one final, hard push Spock felt the rest of the egg sliding past his abused muscles, settling deep into his rectum.

A _whoosh_ of breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding brushed past Spock’s lips, and he practically collapsed into an exhausted heap. Fortunately, McCoy caught him by his hips and controlled Spock’s drop so he settled comfortably onto the floor.

Spock didn’t realize he was still shaking until McCoy’s hand began rubbing up and down his back. 

“It’s okay,” McCoy said. “The worst part is over. Just rest for a bit, then we can go back home.”

Spock was tempted to point out that going back to the Enterprise just meant doing all this again—except in reverse—but he was afraid that if he did McCoy would cease the soothing motion of his fingertips over Spock’s sweat-slicked skin. It was an unbearable thought, so Spock bit his tongue and instead allowed himself to be coddled.

-o-

Walking through the halls of the Enterprise, Spock couldn’t help but wonder if anyone knew. Every gaze he met somehow seemed knowing, even if he was fully aware that only himself, Doctor McCoy, and Captain Kirk knew what had transpired on the pirates’ base. Nevertheless, he forced himself to walk as he always would despite the uncomfortable press of the egg against his insides.

While Kirk had returned to the bridge to ensure a speedy exit from the pirates’ territory, Spock and McCoy had headed directly from the shuttle bay toward the sick bay. They had not needed to discuss their destination; both were quite eager to complete this final phase of the mission then pretend it had never happened.

As they entered sick bay, McCoy directed Spock to a private chamber. He increased the temperature to a level more comfortable for Vulcans then busied himself with collecting any items that might be needed for the coming procedure.

“Go ahead and take your clothes off,” McCoy instructed as he set up a suction machine. 

Spock did not respond but did begin peeling off his uniform. His undershirt was damp with the sweat it had soaked up after he had clothed himself on the base, and his underpants were slick with lube. He dropped them both into the trash chute with distaste before sliding up onto the bio bed. He was grateful McCoy had chosen a standard model rather than directing him to one of the beds with stirrups, as he had feared McCoy would. Somehow, the thought of having his legs forced open and his genitals fully exposed had left him feeling queasy.

Still, sitting on a regular bio bed was not particularly comfortable. The egg shifted inside him, pressing against his insides until his stomach bulged slightly. The sight of his distended stomach reminded him of certain admirals who had not taken care to adjust their diet and lifestyle to the stagnant nature of a desk job. He fought the urge to squirm, knowing that doing so would only worsen the discomfort.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Will you get on your hands and knees for me?” McCoy asked, and Spock reluctantly obeyed.

Once more, he felt McCoy’s fingers against his entrance, although this time they were at least clothed in a protective layer of latex. One probed gently inside him, feeling around the narrow-most tip of the egg then circling the loosened muscle.

“Good, it stayed in position. I’m just going to give it some more lube, then we can start,” McCoy said.

This time, it was the tip of a syringe that breached Spock’s hole. McCoy had evidently fitted it with a narrow nozzle, as Spock felt it nudging between the walls of his rectum and the shell of the egg, squirting small amounts of lubricant out then moving to do the same in a different position. Twice McCoy pulled out the syringe to refill it then push it back inside Spock. By the time he was finished, Spock felt bloated with lubricant and his insides were tensed as if he were about to have a bowel movement.

“Okay, I want to avoid having to use suction as much as possible here, so let’s let gravity give us a hand. I want you to kneel with your knees as far apart as you can manage.”

Spock shifted into position somewhat unsteadily. He felt oddly weak and had to reach forward to support himself against the wall as his knees spread apart. Already he could feel gravity pulling the egg downward, his loosened hole opening up as the weight of the egg pressed against the muscle.

“Let’s just take this slow, alright? You can push, but don’t strain yourself. You’re going to have to keep up steady pressure, too, or else it’s just going to slip right back inside you,” McCoy said.

“Understood.”

The dip of the bed behind Spock indicated that the doctor had taken up position. He tensed when McCoy grabbed hold of his backside, but he did not protest. Every bit of assistance in this endeavor would be needed, and McCoy holding him open meant that Spock could continue using the wall to steady himself.

“Alright, start pushing.”

Spock bore down and soon felt the egg pressing tight against his entrance. He couldn’t help but blush as the lubricant inside him squelched and dribbled out of his hole, surely wetting McCoy’s thumbs where he held Spock open. Still, Spock continued pushing downward, forcing his muscles to clench tighter and tighter until his anus was stretching around the girth of the egg once more. He grunted and pushed harder, each centimeter the egg moved taxing him until he was nearly breathless with discomfort.

“You’re doing great. I’m going to grab it with the suction machine, but I want you to keep pushing it out,” McCoy said. “The suction will hold it in place if you get tired and need a break, but I don’t want to use the suction to pull it out. You’re more likely to tear that way.”

“Understood,” Spock said tightly.

The room was suddenly filled with the whir of the suction machine, then Spock felt a tug through the egg as the cup of the machine latched onto the tip of the egg. Only then did he relax his straining muscles, taking several steadying breaths so he could regain the energy to start pushing again.

“You ready to go again?” McCoy asked after a few minutes.

Spock merely responded with a weary nod, then he began pushing again. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as his abdominal muscles tightened and pressed downward. He pushed until he was breathless from effort and the pain of his hole stretching to its limit around the egg, and then he pushed some more. Through his panting breaths and pained grunts, he heard McCoy’s litany of reassurances and praise until finally, _finally_ the egg dropped from his body and onto the cushioning of the pillow McCoy had evidently placed between Spock’s legs.

Spock slumped forward until his chest was pressed against the wall. He was only distantly aware of the sound of McCoy opening the door and murmuring to a nurse to take the egg and clean it up. Then there were hands on him, guiding him down onto the bio bed.

Through half-lidded eyes, Spock watched McCoy bustling around the room, doing jobs that would normally be the responsibility of a nurse. He threw out supplies, then brought over warm cloths to wipe away the perspiration coating Spock’s face and chest. Not a word was spoken, yet there was tenderness in the way McCoy nudged Spock over to begin washing away the trails of lubricant on Spock’s thighs and backside. Spock couldn’t help the faint whimper he gave when the cloth rubbed over his aching hole.

“I know. Don’t worry, I’ve got something to help that. I just need to get you cleaned up first,” McCoy said as he wrung out the cloth then brought it between Spock’s legs once more.

Eventually the cloth was replaced with a water-filled syringe that pressed inside Spock then squirted out a small flood of water. Spock squirmed, but a firm hand in the small of his back held him steady as McCoy repeated the procedure again and again until he was satisfied that all the lubricant had been rinsed out of Spock. Only then did he wipe Spock down with a towel and begin working a salve into his hole. 

At first the salve stung, but soon the sting was replaced with a soothing cold that finally eased the coiled tension out of Spock’s muscles. He turned pliant and jelly-limbed, so relaxed he barely felt the gentle thrusting of McCoy’s fingers or the tender way they lingered inside, massaging the salve deep into Spock’s aching cavity. By the time McCoy finished and tucked him up under a blanket, Spock had long fallen into an exhausted slumber.


End file.
